


All That Remains

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Dark Claude, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Spells & Enchantments, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: Sid makes a deal to keep injuries from costing him a life after hockey, but the asking price might be too high.





	All That Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Major Noncon Trigger Warnings. I cannot emphasize this enough.  
> I love Claude Giroux. His characterization here does not reflect my opinion of him at all. That said, if you want a little insight into his POV, the song Skulls by Bastille inspired this fic. It's also where I drew the title from.

“Is bad idea, Sid,” Geno grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s the one with a headache. Sid has to resist wincing or reaching up to rub at the burning ache in his neck.  

 

“I know. I don’t -” swallowing, Sid clenches his hands in his lap. Talking about this is hard because it  _ is _ a bad idea, but it’s starting to look like he has no choice. “I want to keep playing. And this . . . might be the only way.” 

 

“And this friend, you trust him?” Geno demands, turning to Tanger who just shrugs. 

 

“Not my friend, but Talbo says they’re one of the best, for whatever that’s worth.” 

 

Which isn’t much, they all know. Sure, Sid might be able to get what he needs, but there’s always a price for magic. And, for something like this? Healing and lasting protection? Sid knows the price could be steep. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Sid closes his eyes and grabs on to the thread of determination still clinging in his chest. “Call him.” 

 

* * *

 

It’s three days before Max actually gets back to them, sending a message to Tanger with a date, time, and address. They’re set for an off day, thankfully, although that means that Sid has to talk most of the guys out of coming with him; in the end, Tanger and Flower go alone, but only once Geno had secured promises from all three of them to call him as soon as it’s over. 

 

The witch, at least, had agreed to meet them in Pittsburgh but the drive is just long enough that Sid feels half sick with anxiety before they get there. Tanger’s car bumps gently over potholes in the pavement as they roll up to the abandoned-looking building. It’s foreboding, and - when Flower gasps aloud as his feet hit the ground - Sid almost calls the entire thing off. He’s not the most sensitive, but even his skin is crawling with the power flickering around them. 

 

“Tanger, what-” Sid starts, but it’s Flower that interrupts him. 

 

“The whole place is -” he waves his hands, clearly searching for a word before shaking his head. “Power. It’s like . . . an altar, but that can’t be.” 

 

Tanger takes the lead, gingerly pushing the rusty door open wide. Inside is lit surprisingly well, sunlight bright through the windows and hanging lights where the sunlight doesn’t reach. Most of the floor is covered in dirt, but Sid can see swirling patterns of sigils in the places where the dirt and dust are thin. They also creep up the walls in a dizzying array, some new and some so old that Sid shudders to even look at them. 

 

Between the dusty piles of crates and boxes, Sid can just barely spot someone standing alone in the middle of the room. Together, the three of them wend their way through the piles and Sid feels his heart sink when he finally gets a good look at who’s waiting for them. Tanger stops short, causing both Flower and Sid to run into him, but he hardly pays them any mind as he starts swearing. 

 

Giroux laughs, delighted in the face of Tanger’s rage, and it sets Sid’s teeth on edge. He grabs Flower by the arm, meaning to pull him back toward the door, but he’s halted by Giroux’s voice calling out over the warehouse floor. 

 

“Crosby. I won’t come back if you walk now. I’m only here as a favor to Max.” 

 

“A favor,” Flower spits. “Sure, cause you’re not getting anything out of this.” 

 

Giroux just shrugs at them, a ‘what can you do’ kind of gesture. “You knew what you were getting into, eh? No surprises here.” 

 

“Fuck.” Flower keeps trying to push Sid toward the door, but he’s stopped. Torn. “Fuck.” 

 

Tanger bullies his way between them, hissing at Sid as he goes. “You can’t be serious, Sid. Let’s get the fuck out of here, come on.” 

 

“Tanger. I-I need to at least ask.” He can ask for the price of what he wants without making a deal; Sid knows that much. If it’s too much for too little, he can leave, maybe find someone else. Someone who at least doesn’t hate his guts.

 

“Fucking hell, Sidney.” Tanger sighs, and it’s then that Sid can see the fear in his friend’s face. Reaching out to give each of them a quick squeeze on the shoulder, Sid steps around his teammates and toward Giroux. 

 

“Wait there, you two,” Giroux calls, serious now, and Flower and Tanger obey with a few more grumblings. Witches deal one-on-one, they know, so at least that’s one less fight Sid has to have. 

 

Stepping across the thick line of salt encircling Giroux, Sid almost sighs in relief as the buzz of magic cuts back to the point he can barely feel it again. Giroux’s watching him intently, posture forcibly relaxed but Sid gets the sense he wants badly to cross his arms in front of him.

 

“So. Why’re you here, Crosby?” 

 

“What’d Talbo tell you?” Sid asks cautiously; some witches can be finicky, and many will only use their magic to provide an end to certain means. 

 

“A player wanted help win an injury. Knowing it’s you, I’m guessing it’s -” Giroux taps his head with one finger, but his gaze says he already knows the answer. “No?” 

 

“Yes. And-” Pausing for a moment, Sid searches for the right words. “Protection.” 

 

“I won’t protect you from injury,” Giroux says flatly. “That’s an advantage I wouldn’t give anyone in the league.” 

 

Sid shudders, Giroux’s anger rolling off him in his magic and he chokes trying to find a way to explain himself. “Not - not from all injury. Just my head. I don’t - You’ve heard what CTE is like, Giroux. I don’t want to lose myself because I keep getting hurt.” 

 

Sharp eyes watch Sid until he can’t bear it anymore; maintaining eye contact always made him uncomfortable, and, even now, as he drops his gaze, he can still feel Giroux looking at him. 

 

“I can offer you injury without permanent damage. It won’t protect you from Death, though,” Giroux warns. “I’m not dumb enough to cheat Death when it comes for someone. But anything less . . . I can do that.” 

 

“And healing?” 

 

Giroux waves his hand, suddenly looking annoyed. “Yes, and that, we already covered that.” 

 

Sid only manages to glance up for a moment before looking away again. “And your price?” 

 

Silence reigns then, right up until Giroux pushes his way into Sid’s personal space to speak into his ear. “Your body.” 

 

Sid shoves him back, putting space between them but Giroux is just watching him the way Sid knows he watches plays on the ice. Calculating. “Take it easy, I don’t mean right now. I’m patient. Willing to wait. But sooner or later, that’s what I want. And let’s keep it our secret, eh?” 

 

The last is phrased like a question even though Sid can hear that it’s not. The words are laced with as much magic as the rest of the deal Giroux has spoken. Disgust twists through his gut, then, and Sid steps backward toward the edge of the circle. He’d expected a lot of things, but this - this wasn’t one of them. 

 

“Ah, now, surely it’s not that bad, Crosby. I know practitioners that’d ask for worse.” 

 

Faintly, Sid registers that Tanger and Flower are yelling, but - much like the hum of magic - their voices are being kept at bay. Giroux and this place - no, Giroux  _ in _ this place is powerful and Sid finally understands why people always said not to get mixed up with a witch. 

 

“Now or never, Crosby. We play tomorrow night, and I’d like to get home before then.” 

 

Giroux says it offhand, like he’s not asking Sid to - Fuck. 

 

“Fuck you, Giroux.” 

 

“Hey,” Giroux bites out, expression suddenly stormy. “I’m not the one looking for help, here. You want something from me, you pay the price. Any witch’ll tell you that. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to leave your fucking city right now.” 

 

Sid’s head throbs then, pain zipping through his temples and down into his neck. It drives his eyes shut, and he has to force his teeth to unclench to ease some of the strain. “Fine.” 

 

“Is that a yes?” Giroux’s voice drops low, full of command and intent that grates at Sid, but he knows he needs to answer. 

 

“Yes. Okay? Yes.” 

 

Giroux smiles then, a slow, lip-curling smile. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out an amulet. It’s nondescript, circular silver on a plain chain. Sid’s almost skeptical until Giroux mutters something in a guttural language and a bright flash envelops the amulet. It comes arcing through the air at Sid, who only catches it out of instinct. The metal is oddly cool to the touch, despite having been in Giroux’s pocket. Gingerly, Sid slips it over his head. For a moment, the world spins, but when it settles again, the pain in his head and neck are obviously gone. 

 

“Good as new,” Giroux grins now, the same, shit-eating grin Sid’s used to on the ice. 

 

“Thanks.” Sid half mumbles the word, turning to step out of the circle. It’s like being hit with a wall of sound, and Tanger and Flower come crashing into him, demanding in desperate French to know if he’s okay. “I’m fine. He did it. Let’s go.” 

 

“But what did he -” 

 

“Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

 

“Sidney-” 

 

“It’s fine, Flower. I promise. Let’s get out of here.” 

 

Sid would swear he can still feel the weight of Giroux’s gaze on his back when they make their way across the lot to the car, but there’s no one to be seen in any of the lower windows of the warehouse. Tanger crosses himself, muttering in tandem with Flower as they drive away. Slumping against the seat, Sid sighs and reaches up to touch the cool metal resting against his chest. 

 

_ What the hell have I done?  _

 

* * *

 

“What the  _ hell _ did you do, Sid? A witch?” Taylor’s voice shrieks through the phone, making Sid wince. 

 

“It’s really not that bad.” 

 

“Sid lies,” Geno yells from his corner of the couch, glowering at Sid when he opens his mouth to protest. “You lie,” he insists, “You won’t tell what you pay, but worry. Lies, Sid.” 

 

“Fine, okay, I’m worried. But I can’t tell anyone. That was part of the deal.” 

 

“Jesus, Sid. He didn’t like, ask for your firstborn kid or something, did he?” 

 

Sid finds himself holding out his phone so he can frown at it before bringing it back up to his ear. “No. You know I wouldn’t agree to something like that. Tay, please. Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna be fine.” 

 

The lie sits heavy on his tongue, and Sid knows that Geno can see it by the way his scowl settles firmly back into place. Thankfully, he keeps any further opinions to himself until Taylor finally bids Sid goodnight. 

 

“I worry,” Geno grumbles. 

 

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m fine, Geno. Really.” 

 

It’s clear that Geno doesn’t believe him, but he lets it go so they can settle in to watch the movie they’d gotten together to watch. The strain of playoffs had been getting to them all, and - with the weight of the knowledge of his deal on his mind - Sid had badly needed some sense of normalcy. Watching shitty action films with Geno fit the bill for now, and they plow through both of the bowls of popcorn before the movie is even half over. 

 

Geno hugs him tight when Sid walks him to the door, and Sid just lets him. He knows his team is worried, and part of him wishes he hadn’t told any of them what he planned to do; they don’t need the extra stress on top of trying to get through playoffs. 

 

Sid tries to not let it get to him either, but waking up with wisps of Giroux’s voice in his ear and hands on his body isn’t all that easy to ignore. 

  
  


Winning the Cup is a pretty good sign that Sid’s been at least marginally successful in putting his deal with Giroux out of his mind. He lets himself get lost in celebration, trying to drown out the worry about his teammates and his deal. It works, at least for a little while, until cleanout day comes and the NHL Awards pass. 

 

Loneliness settles in when he heads back for Pittsburgh, house too empty and teammates scattering for their summer plans. Maybe it’s that loneliness that makes him a little crazy. It doesn’t take much to get Giroux’s number - Segs obviously thinks it’s a little weird, but gives it up easily; they were teammates, after all, and things had been left on a pretty decent note, as far as Tyler knows. 

 

_ You: Are you in Philly?  _

_ Giroux: Crosby. Why do you ask?  _

 

Sid scowls at his phone; evidently Giroux had bothered to keep his number when Sid hadn’t done the same. 

 

_ You: Your payment. I want to get it over with.  _

 

There’s no immediate answer forthcoming, and Sid finally gives up waiting after about an hour. To his surprise, there’s a message waiting when he finishes his workout, along with a missed call. 

 

_ Giroux: What?  _

 

Oddly enough, Sid finds the question pisses him off. He fights the urge to call Giroux, instead carefully thumbing together a message that leaves him shaking. 

 

_ You: You said you wanted my body. I want to get it over with. I can meet you in Philadelphia, but you better be clean. _

_ You: Your terms. I’m just fulfilling my end of the deal.  _

_ Giroux: Let me know when your flight gets in.  _

 

Abandoning his phone on the table, Sid heads upstairs to take a shower. He stays there until the hot water runs out, and shuts off his phone before he goes to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

There’s a cab waiting for him in arrivals as promised, and the woman, thankfully, doesn’t give any sign of recognizing him. He awkwardly reads Giroux’s address from his phone and tries not to panic on the drive there. The driver tries to make small talk, but Sid knows he’s short with her. He leaves a healthy tip in apology before he gets out. 

 

Giroux’s front door opens just as the cab drives away, and the man himself is waiting as Sid trots up the driveway. He doesn’t say a thing as Sid pushes past him, just shutting the door quickly and flicking the locks into place. 

 

“Where’s your bedroom?” Sid bites out stiffly, skin already crawling. 

 

“What, no foreplay?” 

 

It takes everything Sid has to not punch him then and there, but only the knowledge that Giroux could do far worse to him keeps him in check. 

 

“We can do this here or on the couch if you want, but I’d prefer a bed,” is all Sid responds with. 

 

Giroux watches him, the weight of his gaze heavy between Sid’s shoulderblades. “Last door on the left.” 

 

Sid goes, assuming Giroux will follow, and he’s not disappointed when the bedroom door closes behind him. Dropping his bag to the floor, Sid starts in on his clothes, not really realizing he’s shaking until one of Giroux’s hands lands over his. 

 

“Don’t fucking  _ touch _ me,” Sid snarls, jerking back. Giroux’s gaze goes dark and a tingle races up Sid’s spine. 

 

“You’re offering yourself up for sex, but you don’t want me to touch you. Right.” 

 

Something breaks in Sid then and he slumps. Giroux is right, after all. He’s going to be doing a lot more than touching Sid’s hands in a few minutes. Giroux guides his still-shaking hands away and plucks at the buttons on Sid’s shirt until he can shrug it off. Sid lets him undo his fly as well, but then Giroux abandons him to start on his own clothes. 

 

Years of changing in locker rooms means Sid isn’t all that shy about his body, but he finds himself fighting to not cover himself, to at least hide the soft weight of his dick. It’s a small mercy that Giroux doesn’t leave him fidgeting for long, pushing him towards the bed and toppling him down onto it. Fear paralyzes Sid then, forces his breath fast and shallow until he’s dizzy and all he can smell is Giroux as the other man straddles him. 

 

“Hey,” Giroux says, voice suddenly soft and that’s almost worse. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

 

“Aren’t you?” Sid doesn’t manage to keep the bitterness or fear out of his voice, and he hates himself a little for it. 

 

Callused fingers run up his sternum, trailing heat behind them that spreads through Sid. He feels his body relax despite himself and his head buzzes like he’s had too much to drink. 

 

“Stop, what-” he tries, but Giroux dips low to press their mouths together. 

 

“Shh. Just a little assist, hm?” he murmurs with a quirk of his lips. “Like I said, not gonna hurt you.” 

 

Pleasure hums through Sid, sparking brightly everywhere Giroux touches him. He’s achingly hard and increasingly desperate as Giroux plays with his nipples and runs his hands over his abdomen. He feels weak, capable of only pushing up slightly into Giroux’s touch and moaning; Sid doesn’t want to like this - knows, distantly, he shouldn’t - but it’s so, undeniably good. 

 

“That’s it. Just let me.” 

 

Clutching at the sheets, Sid feels control slipping from him as Giroux kisses his way down his stomach. Wet warmth covers his cock and he knows the embarrassing sounds filling the room are coming from his mouth, but he can’t do anything about those either. Slick fingers push at his hole, but Sid’s muscles are too lax to keep Giroux out. His attention is torn between the fingers working him open and the talented mouth around his dick, pleasure burning hot in him until he’s welcoming Giroux’s weight on top of him and the ache of Giroux pushing inside him. 

 

“Oh, fuck, please,” Sid whispers, twisting his head so his face is half pressed into the sheets, but Giroux hears him anyway. 

 

“Yeah, there you go. That’s good, Sid, so good.” Giroux dips to kiss him again, guiding his hands up over his head and pinning him with their fingers laced. The position stretches Sid out, leaves him truly pinned and traps his cock between them so every thrust from Giroux drags his belly along it. 

 

Giroux fucks him hard and deep and Sid shouldn’t be able to take it like he is, considering how long it’s been, but all he feels is pleasure. Every flicker of hesitation that tries to nudge itself forward in his mind gets swept beneath the waves until Sid’s coming with a choking little cry. Giroux bites his shoulder as he fucks him through it and beyond it, using Sid’s body to reach his own orgasm. 

 

For a few long moments, Sid just floats in a sated haze. It’s broken when Giroux pulls out, and it’s like all the warmth has been sucked from Sid’s body. Yanking his thighs shut, Sid scrambles up, nearly knocking Giroux to the floor in his desperation to get off the bed. Face burning and throat tight, he yanks his clothes back on, shoving his feet into his shoes without socks and snatches his bag from the floor. Giroux doesn’t follow, and Sid’s quietly, grudgingly grateful for that fact when it gives him time to sob a little against the front door before the Uber he ordered pulls up. 

 

Sid had thought far ahead enough to make a hotel reservation, and the front desk clerk gets him checked in efficiently enough that he manages to keep himself together until the door clicks shut behind him. Flinging his bag at the bed, Sid yanks his clothes back off so fast he hears a few stitches pop and is sure he’s lost a button off the shirt, but he can’t worry about that now. 

 

The water pressure is blessedly high and the water hot enough to fill the room with steam as soon as Sid turns it on. He hisses getting in, but only nudges the dial a bit back toward cold. The thin bar of hotel soap goes quickly, as does the shampoo and even the conditioner. Sid only feels marginally better getting out and changed. It’s as he’s stuffing his dirty clothes into his bag that he sees his phone is flashing on the bed, alerting him of a missed call from Giroux. Sid blocks his number and only just resists throwing his phone at the wall. Instead, he forces himself through his bedtime routine and crawls between clean sheets, only moving to wipe at his eyes until he finally falls asleep. 

 

* * *

 

“Where are you?” 

 

“What?” Sid mumbles, half awake and blinking gritty eyes at an unfamiliar ceiling. 

 

“Fucking - Sid.  _ Where are you _ ?” Flower demands. The panic and fear in his voice snap Sid awake and he rolls himself upright. 

 

“Philly. Flower, what’s wrong? Is it Vero? Scarlett? I can-” 

 

“Why. Are you in Philly.” 

 

“Flower-” 

 

“Sid. I had a dream last night. Now tell me why you’re in Philadelphia.” 

 

A dream. Flower’s dreams were few and bar between, but they were always right, eventually. And the idea that Flower knew, that Flower  _ saw _ \- 

 

Sid can’t speak. He can’t, because he’ll sob with the painful weight of the shame and agony in his chest. 

 

“Sidney.” Flower’s crooning now, in the same, soft voice he reserves for his girls when they’re hurt or scared. “Sid, I’ll come get you, no? Just wait there, I’ll-” 

 

“I-I have a ticket,” Sid manages in a whisper. 

 

“Okay. Text me your arrival. I’ll be there, okay?” Flower stays on the line for a while after coaxing an agreement out of him. He rambles, quiet nonsense about the girls and his plans for his Cup day, all things Sid already knows, but hearing Flower’s voice helps him settle himself until he can get up. 

 

“Text me, Sid. I mean it.” 

 

“I will.” Sid sends his flight info as soon as he’s off the phone, heading to take another shower and changing into worn pair of sweats and a tee shirt. No one looks at him twice when he’s making his way through the airport, frumpy as he is and with his hat tugged down low over his eyes. 

 

True to his word, Flower is there when Sid lands. They can’t linger because they’ll definitely attract attention here, but Flower pulls Sid in gently by the back of his neck, resting their foreheads together the same way they do on the ice before pulling them out of the airport. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and Sid has to close his eyes against the jerky motions of Flower’s driving until they finally pull into the quiet neighborhood the Fleury’s had settled in. 

 

“Sidney,” Vero murmurs, drawing him into a hug as soon as he’s across the threshold. 

 

“I’m going to take him upstairs.” Flower steals a quick kiss from Vero before gently leading Sid upstairs. Rather than putting him in the guest room, Flower draws him into the master bedroom, taking his bag and dropping it by the closet. “Do you want to change?” 

 

Sid shakes his head, stepping out of his shoes and pulling off his socks. They climb into bed together, settling in close the way they used to when they were younger and the pressure of saving a franchise got to be too much. Flower tucks Sid’s head beneath his chin, wrapping long arms around him and drawing the blankets over them both. 

 

“I’d hoped I was wrong,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Sid.” 

 

“It’s my fault. It was part of the deal.” Sid barely gets the words out before he chokes up, and he clenches his eyes shut when Flower swears and hauls him impossibly closer. 

 

“No, no no, Sid. He doesn’t - no one should-” 

 

“I said  _ yes _ , Flower.” Burying his face as far against Flower’s neck as he can get, Sid shudders. “And I  _ liked it. _ ”

 

That admission hurts as much as anything and Sid’s sobbing quietly. He’s hurting physically, sure; there’s an undeniable ache in his thighs and ass, but he feels like the pain in his chest is worse. Shame sticks in his throat, worms a filthy feeling under his skin that he knows he can’t wash out. 

 

“He used his magic,  _ non _ ?” Flower asks, rubbing gently along Sid’s back. Sid only manages to nod, but Flower catches it. “He made you, Sid. No good person holds someone to a deal like that. Not only that, but he basically drugged you. This isn’t your fault.” 

 

It feels pathetic that all Sid can do is cry. Every time he thinks he can quiet himself, he’ll shift and his thighs will twinge or his hole will throb achingly and he starts up all over again. Flower just holds him, talking softly, little reassurances in a mix of English and French until Sid finally settles down to the occasional, hiccuping breath. 

 

Vero knocks on the door an indeterminable amount of time later, entering quietly. Sid feels the bed dip behind him as she settles on it, finding a comfortable way to spoon up behind him. Her gentle hands run through Sid’s hair as she and Flower converse in soft but rapid French. Finally, she pats his shoulder gently and he rolls just enough to look at her. 

 

"Come eat. The girls are wondering where you are." 

 

Sid loves Estelle and Scarlett, and clearly Vero's taking advantage of that fact here, but he doesn't mind. Flower and Vero make room for him when he starts to move, letting him roll out of their bed under his own power. Sid pads into the bathroom, washing his face with cool water to rid himself of the tacky tear tracks on his face and to try to make himself a little more presentable before heading downstairs. 

 

Vero's made a simple soup and warmed bread rolls. It's comforting, and Sid's grateful. Flower smiles slightly when Sid goes for another bowl, but neither of them chirp him like they normally would. Something about that doesn't sit well, but - on the grand scale of things wrong right now - it's pretty minor. 

 

True to Vero's word, Estelle and Scarlett come trooping in from the living room when Sid's nearly done with his second bowl. With little hands and insistent voices, Sid gets coaxed onto the couch and used as a chair/pillow while Flower puts on their favorite Disney film of the week. At least, Sid thinks, they've moved on from the Frozen obsession, and have cycled back to something he's a little more familiar with. 

 

Sid starts to drift somewhere around the time the villagers are getting ready to raid Beast's castle, but the girls are already sound asleep with him on the couch. Flower gets that smitten face he tends to wear as he gently picks up Estelle, and Sid feels a little wisp of warmth in his chest to see the same look on Vero's face. The feeling sours, though, and he heads for the door, wishing he hadn't left his bag upstairs. He's debating with himself over the merits of going to to get it now versus having to come back later when Vero comes back down the stairs. 

 

"You aren't leaving."  It's not a question, not in that tone. "Sidney. Stay." 

 

"I shouldn't be here," he says lowly, half an ear cocked at the upstairs, hoping he doesn't wake the girls even if he's hardly speaking loud enough to be heard. "You and Flower have Estelle and Scarlett. I'll figure something out." 

 

"You can figure it out here," Vero insists firmly. "You're Marc's friend -  _ our _ friend, Sidney. We're not letting you do this alone." 

 

"He- he told you?" Sid realizes suddenly that of course Flower would have, that he keeps nothing from Vero, but - 

 

"No. But I can guess. I heard him talk during his dream, and I see you now. You're not the first friend I've had who's been raped, Sidney. And I didn't leave her alone, either." Her words are blunt, but there's a screwed up sense of comfort that Sid gets from it. He doesn't want to be treated delicately, despite his tears; deep down, he knows that will only make him feel worse. But he longs for the comfort and familiarity of having his friends close. 

 

"Okay," he murmurs, stepping forward to give her a hug. "I don't want to be a burden, but. Thank you." 

 

Vero's huff is muffled in his shoulder, but Sid hears it all the same. It's then that Flower comes traipsing down the stairs, making a small noise of dismay on the landing. 

 

"Sid are you-" 

 

"Fine. And he's staying the night," Vero says firmly, gently removing herself from Sid's embrace. "Can you make sure the guest room has fresh sheets?" 

 

Flower snorts but pads back upstairs. Suddenly, Sid is fixed with an intense, concerned look and he half wants to cover himself in the face of it. 

 

"I should have asked before. Do you need a hospital? We can call a doctor, someone discreet, if need be." Vero's careful about the words, but Sid feels a fresh wash of humiliation crash over him. 

 

"No, I'm - he didn't hurt me. Not like that." 

 

"I'm sorry to ask, Sid, but. Did he use a condom?" 

 

Fuck. Sid, clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to but digging back through the memories and - "I'm not sure. There was . . . I wasn't coherent. I don't know."

 

“Get tested,” she orders, voice soft. “For your sake, okay?” 

 

Taking a breath to fight back the renewed urge to cry, Sid nods and lets Vero guide him back into the living room. Flower joins them for a movie, pressed just close enough to Sid to be a comfort. Sleep doesn’t come easy when Vero finally shoos them upstairs, but there’s a measure of safety that’s warm over Sid when he’s tucked away in the Fleury’s guest room.

 

* * *

 

The panic in Sid’s chest only eases when he finally gets his test results back. He’s clean, healthy, and the ache that Giroux had left in his body had eased within a week. What hasn’t left him in the sick sense of lust that haunts his sleep, the want that leaves him aching and horrified with himself every time he wakes up hard. Jerking off doesn’t help, not when the fantasies that slip through his mind are of ginger hair and freckled skin, the soft echo of  _ Good, Sid, so good _ making him yank his hands away from himself. The one time he gives in leaves him wrecked; he’s so desperate to come he pushes a finger inside himself and buries his face in a pillow, hating the whimper that escapes when he thinks of Giroux’s voice and comes hard in his palm. An hour in a scalding shower does nothing for how filthy he feels, horror crawling under his skin. 

 

Sid only makes it a few weeks at home, until dodging his parents’ and sister’s concerned looks and probing questions gets to be too much. His agent is more than happy to hear he’ll be back in Pittsburgh earlier than planned, ready to do whatever promotional work he can find. Visiting hospitals and doing photoshoots is easier than being alone, and no one knows him well enough to ask too many questions if he’s acting a little oddly. 

 

It’s a good system, until it isn’t. An itch builds under Sid’s skin that won’t be sated by skating or running or fucking himself sore with the toy he ordered in the middle of one desperate night. Finding himself standing on Claude Giroux’s front step is nothing but the result of momentary insanity, he thinks, but by the time he wonders just what in the hell he’s doing, Giroux’s door is opening. 

 

“Crosby.” Giroux sounds  _ annoyed _ and that pulls at something in Sid’s chest that cuts his pent up frustration loose. Shoving the other man backward, Sid steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him, dropping his bag to the ground to meet Giroux head on. Sid doesn’t have any height on Giroux, but he’s at the peak of summer fitness, and he gets his rival pinned to the wall with ease. 

 

“What the fuck did you do to me,” he demands, hating the way his voice cracks just a little, but he pushes Giroux into the plaster all the harder to make up for it. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Giroux says coolly. “Let me go.” 

 

For a split second, Sid’s ready to punch him. A burning tingle races up his arms as he thinks it, and Sid yelps, instinctively pulling away. He shakes his hands out, setting his teeth against the pain that sparks in his elbows until the feeling fades altogether. 

 

“You did,” he grits. “You -” 

 

“I used a little magic to make it easier for you. Nothing else.” Giroux’s calm is infuriating, and Sid finds himself taking a step forward. 

 

“Then why do I -” Sid just manages to catch himself, but something dark and delighted lights up in Giroux’s face. He reaches out and just manages to make contact with Sid’s neck. A warmth similar to the last slides down Sid’s spine and goosebumps rise across his skin. Giroux draws Sid in with that same touch, a faint smirk on his lips. 

 

“Can’t stop thinking about it, hm?” Giroux murmurs softly. Sid leans toward him like a flower toward the sun, and Giroux tips his head just enough to bring their mouths together. Shame wells in Sid’s chest when he moans against Giroux’s lips, but it’s washed away utterly by want between one kiss and the next. 

 

“Upstairs?” Giroux suggests, and Sid stumbles after him, letting himself be stripped and tumbled onto Giroux’s bed. There’s soft laughter from above him as Giroux climbs on the bed. “I like you like this.” 

 

A flash of annoyance runs through Sid, but it’s squashed by the extra wave of warmth that hits him when Giroux skims his fingers across Sid’s belly. Giroux touches, unrushed this time, methodically taking Sid apart until he’s a limp, aching,  _ whimpering _ mess on the sheets. 

 

“Please, Claude,” Sid breathes, shakily spreading his legs. Warm hands land on his thighs, pushing them up and open further, petting down the sensitive inside. 

 

“That’s good, Sid.” Giroux’s voice makes Sid shudder, knowing that he’s being  _ good  _ \- 

 

Cool, slick fingers circle his hole, dipping inside and Giroux lets out a hiss. “So easy for it, hm?” 

 

“Please,” is all Sid can manage, tossing his head back on a moan when Giroux pushes further inside. 

 

“Don’t even need to stretch you, do I? God.” Giroux hooks his arm beneath one of Sid’s knees, lifting it up to pull him open, using his free hand to guide himself inside. 

 

Clenching his hands in the sheets, Sid loses track of time, only able to hear the filth and praise falling from Giroux’s lips, only able to focus on the drag of his cock inside him and the too-loose grip Giroux makes around Sid’s dick. Sid almost whines when Giroux stops touching him, but it’s lost when Giroux bends down to steal a kiss. The shift in angle makes Sid gasp into Giroux’s mouth and Giroux thrusts just a bit harder. 

 

“Right there?” Giroux laughs when he fucks in roughly and Sid only moans loudly. “Guess so.” 

 

Sid’s dizzy with pleasure, aware that he’s started clawing at Giroux’s shoulders but he can’t get enough breath to to speak. He feels like he’s spinning apart and the only thing holding him in place is Giroux. Coming leaves him weak, and the mewling sounds that fill the room barely register as his own. 

 

“God, that’s so good, Sid, fuck,  _ fuck _ .” Giroux grinds in shallow thrusts the closer he gets, nipping at Sid’s throat when he finally comes. The pleasure doesn’t fade as fast this time when Giroux pulls out. 

 

For a few minutes, Sid’s sated and relaxed, watching hazily as Giroux gets rid of the condom and swipes some of the mess from Sid’s stomach. It’s only when Giroux starts pulling his clothes back on that shame sweeps over Sid; he rolls over, wanting to shield his nakedness even though Giroux can still see him. He snatches up his clothes from the floor, fumbling as he pulls them on. Giroux watches him, expression unreadable as Sid pulls his shirt over his head and all but runs out of the house. 

 

There’s no waiting room this time, but Sid shells out for the next flight back to Pittsburgh. Flower doesn’t call, and the tenderness in Sid’s thighs blends in with the ache left behind when he goes for a run every day for the next week; he shoves every reminder to the back of his mind and Sid can almost pretend nothing happened at all. 

 

* * *

 

He continues to pretend nothing has happened every time after, even with the imprint of Giroux’s fingerprints on his hips and the mouth-bite bruise beneath his collar bone.

 

* * *

 

“ _ Sid _ ,” Geno presses, startling Sid out of a reverie. “You alright?” 

 

“Earth to captain,” Flower chimes in, but both of their expressions are more than a little concerned. 

 

Shaking his head to try and focus, Sid gives his teammates an awkward smile, going back to lacing up his skates. “Sorry, guys.” The flow of conversation picks back up, and Sid does his best to participate, but he still catches a few of the guys casting him worried glances. Worse are the probing questions even Mario has been asking lately, and they stir up the awful, sickly feeling under Sid’s skin, the unshakeable sense of  _ wrong _ niggling at the back of his mind.

 

Thankfully, this is one of the scant times where Sid can escape for a day or two, making the drive to Philly instead of flying because he was worried about being spotted. Guilt still finds a home in his stomach on the way there, right up until Claude’s fingers caress his cheek in the entryway. Familiar calm and want breeze through him, a warm balm over the stress and anxiety and  _ wrong _ . Claude’s gentler, recently, even if he’s got a penchant for leaving biting claim marks on Sid’s thighs and chest. 

 

“Have you been good?” Claude asks, unbuttoning the dress shirt Sid hadn’t taken the time to change out of. Sid nods, then shakes his head, earning himself a little laugh. “Yes or no, Sid.” 

 

“There’s -  _ ah _ \- no one else but,” Sid bites his lip, vaguely unsure. Claude keeps watching him expectantly, though, so he goes ahead with the confession waiting on his tongue. “My play. I’m . . . unfocused. The team’s noticed.” 

 

“Hmm.” Claude runs a finger over the fading bite mark on Sid’s chest, before sending a little spark of pain into it that makes Sid whimper as he sustains it. “You can do better, though, can’t you? Can’t have anyone knowing why you’re so distracted.” 

 

“Yes,” Sid gasps, trying to pull away but the contact between his skin and Claude’s finger is like a magnet. “Yes, I can.” 

 

“Good. That’s good, Sid.” Claude soothes away the pain in the next moment by brushing his mouth over the mark. “Come on. Upstairs.” 

 

The calm stays over Sid longer these days, as well. It’s only when he’s gone too long without seeing Claude that need and anxiety build under his skin. It would almost be a boon for his hockey if he wasn’t so distracted, still wanting to be here, wishing that the toys and fingers he pushes inside of himself were Claude instead. But he’ll focus more now. Claude wants him to. And he’s - 

 

“Claude,” he murmurs, lips dragging along Claude’s chest where Sid is curled into his side. “Am I yours?” 

 

The hand rubbing along Sid’s back stops for a moment before picking up its steady pace. “Do you like being mine, Sid?” 

 

Truthfully, Sid’s never thought about it before. Everything had started out so - but Sid doesn’t like to think about that. Now, things are nice. Claude is pleased with him. Sid is good. “Yeah,” he sighs, “I do.” 

 

Claude kisses his forehead, the curve of his smile obvious against Sid’s skin. “Then yes, Sid. You’re mine.” 

 

* * *

 

_ When all of our friends are dead and just a memory _ __  
_ And we're side by side, it's always been just you and me _ _  
_ __ For all to see

 

_ When our lives are over and all that remains _ __  
_ Are our skulls and bones let's take it to the grave _ __  
_ And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms _ __  
_ I'll be buried here with you _ _  
_ __ And I'll hold in these hands all that remains.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](http://iaintafraidofnoghostbear.tumblr.com/)


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